Dad’s Haircuts Created Lots of Buzz

The buzz of the hair clipper was loud and my neck was already getting itchy, but if I could survive these five minutes, Dad wouldn’t bug me about it for maybe a month.

The four Johnson boys all got haircuts from our father Juneau when we were young. This took place in the downstairs bathroom or in front of the huge sink in the kitchen. We waited nearby until we heard “OK, who’s next?”. Since I didn’t like sitting around waiting for something as trivial as a haircut, I tried to go first so I could get back to playing. I didn’t know that hair was fashionably important until junior high.

We took turns sitting on a stool for our buzz. A white dishtowel, draped around our bodies from neck down, was shaken outside between cuts. I don’t know if Dad bought the hair clipper new but I think he got his money’s worth. The buzz was not the continuous tone you’d expect but a thrashing of sounds which were its way of saying it should be retired.

These haircuts were a rite of passage in the Johnson household and each of us has his own related stories. Brother Dave’s stories are the most revealing. His teen years produced a particular relationship with Dad which vacillated between tolerance and disgust.

“He used haircuts as a disciplinary tool on me,” Dave recalled. “Whenever I did something that Dad didn’t much approve of, it was time for a haircut.”

This was at a time when longer hair was starting to be cool and Dad would cut it short to remind Dave who was boss. “It was sort of like Samson losing his power when his hair was cut,” he said. “That’s when I started to wear baseball caps. It started with those haircuts and I just got in the habit of wearing them all the time.”

Dave claims to have had only one haircut at a barber shop ever and that was when he was in our sister Laurel’s wedding and someone else paid for it. So, he was either shamed into continuing our dad’s haircut abuse or just too cheap to pay for them. He graduated from Dad’s haircuts when his wife Linda took over and it’s been that way ever since. He still wears caps all the time.

My oldest brother Bruce moved on to a crewcut at some point and that meant haircuts at a barber shop. That cut was beyond Dad’s capabilities. I think Bruce wore a crewcut until his kids were old enough to be embarrassed.

Brother Warren had bangs (the longest hair Dad would allow) but his hair was very fine making it a tough task for Dad to cut them straight with his dull scissors so they were left crooked until the next month’s attempt.

The first time I went to a barber on my own I rode my bike to a shop on Old West Main St. I was probably 13. I told the barber to cut it short or my dad would not be pleased. He followed orders. I looked in the mirror and gasped. You needed a microscope to see any hair. The barber said if my dad was not happy with it to come back and he’d take off some more. I returned to home haircuts.

I once tried a Trimcomb (by Popeil). “It trims and thins, shapes, blends, and tapers,” their TV ad said. Dave tried it on me and with the first swipe he took out every hair down to the skin. I don’t think there were any settings on it. I couldn’t even see the bald spot since it was on the back of my head but everyone else could. Hair grows back, but not fast enough in this case. That was the last of the Trimcomb.

I don’t remember exactly when I finally started to go to a barber for all my haircuts but I think it was after I was married. Catherine tried using clippers on me and our kids at one point but the talent and patience were just not there.

I did not enjoy going to a barber because I never knew what kind of cut to ask for. I figured they would know what would look good on me, but they expected me to tell them what I wanted. “A little off the top” could mean anything and often did. I was never a regular enough customer to be able to ask for “the usual”. I needed to be more specific.

So eventually, while waiting my turn, I’d dig through the pile of 10-year-old Hot Rod and Outdoor Life magazines to find the men’s hairstyle books. I didn’t look anything like those chiseled athletes. No style jumped out at me and some were horrific. I’m not sure my barbers could even reproduce the cuts shown in the books. Maybe they were there to show you what not to ask for. So, I ended up with some sort of negotiated haircut. At least I left with shorter hair, but the cuts were different every time.

I now go to a place designed for speed and low price and I found a style I can live with – not fabulous but one that I can explain to whoever cuts it. “Give me a number three on the sides, cut the top to one finger, and take the sideburns” is all I need to say. Works for me.